


until the stars tick out a lullaby

by AnnaofAza



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e08 The Blade of Marmora, Season/Series 02, they're young and everyone should at least have one nice dance, this is just an excuse to have them slow dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 18:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18530743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: Everyone looks at Shiro, someone who’s actually been to a dance, and Shiro ducks his head, looking shyer than Keith’s ever seen. “Well,” he says, “they were kind of boring at times, but fun. I always had a good time.”“Ooh,” Lance croons, “did you get some?”In which Keith and Shiro get to have the slow dance they never had.





	until the stars tick out a lullaby

It’s going to take a while to reach the Blade of Marmora's base, and after the space mall, everyone wants to stretch out and relax in the common room. Even Allura, hair still in elaborate braids and sparkly glitter, had agreed, sitting on the couch with her feet propped up, while Hunk passes out cookies—thankfully, not made from scaltrite.

Keith sits on the couch, sipping at one of the space juice boxes, trying to ignore all the thoughts whirling around his head—about Ulaz, the knife, the fact he just might get the answers he’s been waiting for his whole life. Shiro’s beside him, skimming through his datapad and watching the rest of the group debate over which one of them had the craziest adventure.

He’s trying to notice Shiro’s arm, draped casually over the back of the couch, so close to his shoulders.

They hadn’t talked about it, and maybe at this point, they never would. But it’s hard to forget the heat of the campfire, the dry lips against his…

Keith’s snapped out of his thoughts with Hunk’s declaring, “I think single-handedly schooling a no-good short-order cook trumps buying a cow and a video game that doesn’t work.”

At the reminder, Pidge buries her face in her hands, and Lance pats her on the shoulder consolingly before turning to Hunk. “There was actually a lot of cool stuff in that Earth store. Chocolate bars, vintage headphones, t-shirts, some CDs—”

“CDs?” Keith says, raising his eyebrows. “Did you also find cassette tapes? Record players? _VCRs?_ ”

“Hahaha,” Lance says sarcastically, poking him in the chest, which Keith immediately bats away with a scowl. “For your information, Mullet, you might not miss music, but us normal humans do.”

“Did someone say music?” Coran exclaims, popping out from—Keith doesn’t know where. Maybe there are trapdoors all over the castle they don’t know about. It would explain a lot of things, honestly. “Why didn’t you say so? We have some Altean folk ballads stored somewhere, maybe some of Pop Pop’s operatic hits—”

“That’s okay,” Lance quickly interrupts, holding up his hands. “I mean, uh, Earth music. Classics, songs you can really dance to.”

“Dance?” Allura visibly brightens. “I didn’t know you had those skills; we _are_ going to have to attend diplomatic events as paladins.”

“I can show you some moves, Princess,” Lance says, with a wink.

“He can really dance,” Hunk says supportively. “You should have seen the dance battles Friday night in the common room—”

“I think the princess means _formal_ dancing,” Shiro interrupts, looking up from his datapad, “like waltzes.”

Allura wrinkles her forehead, clearly confused. “Waltzes?”

“They’re traditional, slow Earth dances,” Shiro explains. “Usually involves a partner, like the ones in the old movies, or at the Garrison annual military ball.”

“Nope, never been,” Lance says.

“Me neither,” Hunk adds.

Pidge shakes her head. Keith shrugs.

Shiro’s wearing the same expression he’d worn back in the Garrison when Keith admitted he’d never seen _Star Wars_. “None of you?”

“You’ve never been to a ball?” Allura actually looks dismayed.

“Well, you weren’t allowed if you aren’t in a certain year, and the year we were old enough…” Hunk trails off.

“Kinda missed it with the whole Voltron thing,” Lance finishes, then leans in towards Allura, voice dropping several octaves. “But it was worth it to meet you.”

Everyone collectively groans. Shiro even rolls his eyes.

“Regardless, cotillions are so much fun!” Coran cheerfully interjects. “Dressing up, eating all sorts of delicious snacks, cutting a dashing figure on the dance floor—” He begins spinning around, waving his arms like a windshield wiper gone crazy and wiggling his hips in a way that makes Keith wish he was blind. Allura laughs, as the other paladins start snickering, except for Hunk, who’s politely clapped his hands twice.

“Maybe we didn’t miss anything,” Pidge says. “Matt always said it was too stiff and formal. He also complained the Garrison uniforms never flattered his ‘figure.’”

Everyone looks at Shiro, someone who’s actually been to a dance, and Shiro ducks his head, looking shyer than Keith’s ever seen. “Well,” he says, “they were kind of boring at times, but fun. I always had a good time.”

“ _Ooh_ ,” Lance croons, “did you get some?”

“Lance!” Hunk groans, and Pidge promptly smacks Lance across the back of his head.

Keith now wishes Coran would start dancing again. He doesn’t dare look at Shiro, feigning interest in reading the back of his juice box.

Shiro laughs, but it seems distant. “Just my first kiss. During a slow dance outside.” He smiles down at his feet. “A bit cliché—under the stars and everything. But it was…nice.”

Allura claps her hands. “Let’s do a practice run, then,” she suggests. “We’ll make a night out of it. Dancing, music, food—” Hunk’s eyes light up. “The works! We can use the ballroom.”

“Dance in _these_?” Lance asks, gesturing to his jacket. “They’re better than the traffic-cone orange uniforms, but—”

“Traditionally, you would be in your paladin armor,” Allura says.

“That makes sense,” Shiro begins, but Lance groans: “But we wear that every day, too! Can’t we…dress up, for once?”

“There’s several dressing gowns in the castle you can wear, if you want,” Coran suggests. “We have a variety of robes, cloaks—"

“Cloaks?” Lance exclaims. “Cool.”

“No cloaks,” Pidge and Hunk say at once.

“It sounds fun,” Shiro says. “And we can learn along the way, too—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance interrupts, with a wave of his hand. “But the important thing is—” he says, then pulls out his datapad, swiping across the screen before tapping with a flourish, “we can relax and do some of _this_.”

Music blares from the tiny speaker, and Lance puts his datapad on the table, shucking off his jacket to cheers from Pidge, Hunk, and Coran. Shiro stays on the couch, clearly amused, as Lance begins to dance right in the middle of the room. He break-dances, shuffles, spins, and even does the worm for Allura’s benefit, who starts laughing uncontrollably.

“We would _not_ do that at the Garrison,” Hunk says, as Lance begins to show Coran how to twerk.

“Could you imagine Iverson’s face?” Pidge snickers. “Almost makes me wish we didn’t miss the ball.”

“Iverson would have tossed you out,” Shiro says.

“He would,” Keith adds. But he admits to himself that it would have been nice, if he had said yes. Had that chance at some normalcy. Now, it’s too late.

Because of his stupid pride. His stupid crush.

Lance’s playlist then transitions to an old— _old_ —song, and a familiar clapping beat. Everyone cheers, getting up, even Shiro, as Keith watches, trying not to smile.

“Join us, Allura!” Lance says.

“I don’t know this one,” Allura says, but she’s already stepping onto the floor, cocking her head to watch as everyone slides to the left, then to the right.

“Just follow the instructions,” Lance tells her, stepping backwards and clapping his hands, then swivels his hips, seeing Keith still on the couch. “Yeah? Hey, Mullet, get up here! There’s no way you don’t know this, too.”

“I don’t dance,” Keith says.

“You do now,” Lance replies, then pulls him onto the floor.

For a moment, Keith stands uncomfortably, glancing back and forth, then decides to go with it. He jumps backwards—and nearly stumbles into Shiro. “Sorry,” he mutters, embarrassed.

Shiro smiles back reassuringly. “It’s not dancing without bumping into someone.” He lightly brushes Keith’s arm. “It’s okay.”

And after that, after another song, with everyone stumbling around and laughing like the teenagers they’re supposed to be, Keith finds himself having fun.

* * *

The fun, of course, doesn’t last long.

Keith gets the shit kicked out of him and has to walk away from the vision of his dad. He discovers, along with that his mom was part of a secret underground resistance, he’s part-Galra. Oh, and the war's finally going to be put to stop, one way or another. 

Keith wonders if his team hates him now—god, Allura definitely does. And Shiro…

After all, after Allura and Coran, Shiro’s the one who has the exclusive rights to hate him. The Galra abducted him, forced him to suffer unimaginable tortures, cut off his _arm._ The fact that he shares blood— _heritage_ —with the same people who hurt Shiro makes him sick.

His shoulder still feels messed up, even with the healing gel spread over the wound, and his face still stings from the blades. _Our allies,_ he thinks, bitterly.

_And don’t forget, you’re one of them._

This isn’t helping. Keith turns over in his bed, trying to quiet his thoughts, but they keep coming. _Knowledge or death. You’ve awoken the blade. Then you’ve chosen to be alone._

There’s a knock on his door, and Keith finds his hand slipping underneath his pillow, to the blade—he hopes it isn’t Kolivan, because he still has a lot of things he wants to say to him. Or maybe it’s one of the team, telling him that he’ll have to leave—but no, they need him. To pilot the Red Lion. To defeat Zarkon. They can’t—

“Keith.” It’s Shiro. “Can I come in?”

Keith’s hand slides away from the handle, but his fingers clench in the blankets. This is it. They’ve elected Shiro to do the dirty deed, and it can’t hurt any more than this. But… “Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Go ahead.”

The door opens. Shiro steps in, and Keith, with the blanket still twisted around his ankles, looks up. Shiro’s not in his paladin armor; he’s in his civilian clothes, minus the vest and gloves. Instead, he’s in his tight-fitting black undershirt, dim blue hallway lights casting shadows across his face.  

“What’s going on?” Keith asks slowly, not daring to move.

“Come with me,” Shiro says.

Carefully, Keith slides out of bed, pulling on his shoes with trembling hands. He’s still in his black t-shirt and jeans. He wonders if he’ll be allowed to take his armor, or his bayard. God, how long would he survive without them? Where would he even go? Is he supposed to return to Earth? How long will it take? “Do I…do I need to pack—”

“Pack?” Shiro’s voice sounds surprised. “No. Why would you think that?”

“I….” Keith takes a deep breath. “Do you want me to go?”

“What?” Shiro shakes his head, vehemently. “No, Keith. Never.”

But… “Then what do you want?”

“For you to trust me,” Shiro says softly. “Please.”

At that, Keith swallows, rises to his feet. Shiro stands back, allowing Keith to pass through the doorway, and shuts it behind them.

Then, to Keith’s surprise, Shiro takes his hand, squeezing once, before gently pulling him down the hall. “This way,” he says.

He doesn’t know what’s happening, but as always, he follows Shiro, wondering if they’re going to the training deck. Or to the lions. Or to the healing pod, even. But as they turn down another corner, Keith knows exactly where they’re headed. “Why are we— _oh_.”

The observation deck looks the same as always, except for light music playing in the background.

Outside, there’s nothing but a field of stars, with green-blue light dancing along the control panels and the glass windows, softly illuminating the whole room. He’s been up here countless times to think, to stare out in the depths of the space—Shiro has, too—but Keith’s never seen it like this.

Keith’s throat closes up. “What is this?”

Shiro lets go of his hand to sheepishly scratch the back of his neck. “You never really got to have this kind of experience, and I know that didn’t matter to you, but I think it does. And I think…you wanted it, but didn’t want to admit it. And after everything that’s happened…you seemed down.” He clears his throat.

“Shiro…” Keith breathes. He doesn’t know what to say. All of this…Shiro set all of this up for him. “I…”

Shiro clears his throat again, then holds out his hand. Keith stares at it, wondering if this is a dream he’ll eventually wake up from. Maybe he’s still in bed, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Keith. Will you dance with me?”

What the hell. If this is a dream, he’ll take it.

Keith places his hand in Shiro’s, and Shiro pulls him towards the window. Slowly, Shiro’s other hand settles gently on Keith’s hip, fingers interlacing with Keith’s, between their bodies. And Shiro begins to move them, stepping deftly, silently.

He can feel the ship whirling underneath his feet. The hands on his body. Rotating in a slow, unhurried circle. The music with its soft rhythm, its steady beats. The blue-green lights splaying against their faces, their hands.

Keith wishes, now, he’d thought to take his gloves off, if only to Shiro’s calloused fingertips against his knuckles, Shiro’s palm against his. He wonders if he could peel them off, wonders if his hands are clammy, but doesn’t want to move away.

 “This is…nice,” Keith finally whispers.

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees softly, then coughs. “I. Uh, sorry if this is silly.”

“No,” Keith quickly says, then tugs him, ever so slightly, wanting to keep moving like this. Shiro’s closer now, their foreheads almost touching. “No. Just…unexpected.”

He’s wanted this for so long, wanted this since the Garrison.

He’d thought about saying yes, but thought about Adam, thought about his own impulsiveness, that it would mean so much to him and not the same to Shiro.

It hadn’t stopped him from imagining it—Shiro in his uniform, leading him onto the dance floor, hands around his waist. Himself in that horrible cadet uniform, the only piece of formal-wear he had. And—it wouldn’t have been Shiro’s first kiss, but maybe…

But then, Shiro had only invited Keith—he was sure—out of politeness. Pity for the orphan kid. He didn’t feel that way towards Keith, especially not now, no matter what had happened on that planet—

“What is this?” Keith demands, then pulls away, ignoring the protesting of his shoulder, the ache across his shoulders. “I don’t want—not like—I’m fine."

“No, you’re not,” Shiro rebuts, reaching for him. “Keith, this whole thing did a number on you; I can’t believe you fought for so long. I saw you—”

“You were _watching_?” Keith asks, mortified. Fuck. This was a bad idea. What possessed him to go along with this? “You saw…”

“I saw. Keith! Please, don't go." 

It's both bait and balm, the only thing keeping him from walking out of the room. "So you saw. Great." Keith tries to breathe, tries to do all the mind tricks Shiro used to teach him back in the Garrison. Count to ten. Recite all the stars and planets.  _Patience yields focus._ "I get it, okay. You saw how weak I was."

 _Shiro, wait!_  

"I saw that you didn't quit, that you kept fighting, no matter the odds." Shiro holds out both of his hands. "Keith, you—you’re the strongest person that I know.”

A lump rises in Keith’s throat. The stupid music's still playing in the background. “No, I’m not.” _I fell apart after Kerberos. You told me to be strong, hang in there. I couldn’t do it, not without you. Then, I had to lose you…_ “You don’t have to do this, you know. I’m…”

“You’re Keith,” Shiro interrupts firmly. “That’s who you are. Hey.” His voice is quiet. “You’re still the Keith I know. And—”

“Don’t. I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” Shiro actually sounds angry right now, and fuck, he’s ruined it, hasn’t he? “I never—Keith. Ever since the crash, I...” And with a frustrated sound at the back of his throat, Shiro strides forward, takes Keith’s face in his hands, and kisses him.

Surprised, Keith stiffens beneath him, but easily, he gives himself over to Shiro—his mouth, his taste, his thumb caressing the light cuts on his face. He finds himself pulling Shiro closer by the hem of his shirt, the shirt he’d dug out of a box in his shed that night, heart pounding in the rhythm of _he’s back he’s back he’s back._

And this time, he doesn’t taste dust or metal or salt, doesn’t hear Shiro’s breath rattle against his, doesn’t think about Zarkon or crashing or the universe.

It's just them. 

Finally, they have to pull away for hair, Keith breathing shallowly as Shiro cups his face in one hand.

“Keith,” he breathes. “I’ve _never_ pitied you. You have to know that. I should have—” Shiro shakes his head, then takes both of Keith’s hands in his. “And…as you know, after all of this, when this is over, we won’t be needed anymore. But…I want to help you find your family.”

And with that, Keith stops dead, completely frozen.

Shiro begins stuttering: “I mean, we’re your family. And I hope you feel that way, too. But if you want to find your mom, after all of this, I’ll come with you. If you want. I’ll even shake down Kolivan—”

“Shiro, I…” Keith’s throat closes up. Fuck. Is there nothing Shiro wouldn't do for him? “Thank you.”

He tugs away, puts a hand on Shiro’s chest. It seems to stop Shiro’s babbling, if anything. “I…in the trials, I saw you. And I realized…my greatest fear was losing you.” He takes a deep breath. “Let’s…try. Not after everything. Now. Letting Zarkon dictate everything—we’re fighting against him; we don’t have to bend to his will; _I don't care._ ”

This is reckless. Kolivan, Allura, anyone will have a few things to say about it. 

But Keith means it, and they deserve this chance. To be young. To have some firsts. To love.

“For now?” Slowly, Keith holds out his hand. “Let’s dance." 

Shiro's eyes drift to the hand on his chest. Keith can feel the frantic beating underneath his shirt, underneath his fingertips. 

Now, Shiro takes his hand, and they begin to circle together, arms around each other, a backdrop of stars behind them, in another dance. 


End file.
